<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>shame that your time is ticking by karnsteins</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26805907">shame that your time is ticking</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/karnsteins/pseuds/karnsteins'>karnsteins</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the descent [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Outsiders - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, College Years for Ponyboy, Gen, Horror, M/M, POV Outsider, Possession, Waffle House, the ship is technically in the background for this</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:20:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,602</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26805907</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/karnsteins/pseuds/karnsteins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He looks up right as two more rough looking guys enter, and instantly he knows something is wrong by the way they're walking. For all the relative wealth Glenn had in relation to others here, he knew the desperate look of someone casing a place -- and the way they tracked Ponyboy, with their eyes.</p><p>Glenn opens his mouth but he's too late, as they both pull out guns, aiming right for Ponyboy, who's behind the register now. He sees Ponyboy stiffen, his fingers curling on either side of the booth. "Guess you aren't looking to have a waffle, are you?"</p><p>(another possible future for the series, the descent involving ponyboy, a school classmate, and a stick up that goes very wrong.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ponyboy Curtis/Dallas Winston</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the descent [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1911538</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>shame that your time is ticking</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bar is dark, full of rough guys and rougher girls than the normal college fare. It's on the very edge of the city, and being here puts Glenn's stomach into knots as he settles in the booth. He feels as if he sticks out here more than blends in, jaw working nervously as he looked at the other occupant, "You sure about this place?" </p><p>"It's tough," Ponyboy Curtis replies, pushing his glasses up his nose with a knuckle, in that odd Southern accent that Glenn is still getting used to. "Everyone knows each other. Ain't nothing to be scared of." His tone is assured, calm and Glenn dislikes that he's actually a bit charmed by it. </p><p>For a country bumpkin, Ponyboy Curtis is a good looking guy. He keeps his hair longer than Glenn's collegiate cut, which doesn't seem to clash with the glasses he wears or the generally worn flannel he wears. They'd agreed to meet here to swap notes, talk a bit about their last class. Just as college buddies. </p><p>Oklahoma is a strange place to run from family, and of everyone here, Ponyboy is an interesting one. The name alone had Glenn seeking him out in their classes, and eventually working with Ponyboy, learning the local places had happened naturally. </p><p>"Tough, huh," Glenn can't help the wry grin as he opens his bag. He's still getting used to the odd slang Ponyboy and the others use. "I can deal with that. You come here often?" </p><p>Ponyboy shrugs, again in the odd coolness he's not quite aware he has. "Sometimes. Don't like to get drunk much." He takes another sip of his Pepsi, as if to accentuate the point. "Not gonna be here long anyway. I need to finish everything else, an' get home for Christmas." </p><p>"Spending it with family?" Glenn watches as Ponyboy takes the papers, grey-green eyes skimming the notes. "Back home, I mean?" </p><p>Ponyboy nods absently, thumbing through. "Yeah. Me and my brothers always come back. Got a misspell here." He points at the page, and his glasses slide a bit down his nose. "You going back to--?" </p><p>Glenn sneers. "Hell no. You couldn't drag me back. I'm staying with Marcia over the holidays here." As always, whenever he mentions her name. something in Ponyboy seems to tense up. "She and I might even go skiing next year. Which word is it?" </p><p>Reaching over, the light glinting off of the ring he wears (of all things, a skull!), Ponyboy shows him the typo. "There. Hope you guys have a good time, then."</p><p>Glenn takes his chance then. "Cherry says you're welcome to swing by, too." </p><p>It's been waiting for him to say for weeks now. Ever since Cherry had recognized Ponyboy's name from one of his stories, he'd understood that the two had known each other. Marcia had shared a look with Cherry and Cherry offered. </p><p>The look on Ponyboy's face though for a moment seems frozen, half way between being startled and a little… sick. Then it passes, and Ponyboy shakes his head, "Thanks, but no. I'd rather get home, see my folks." </p><p>There's an unexpected firmness in his voice. So Glenn drops it. They discuss more about the paper, about the wind down of the semester. Glenn wonders what the connection is, what high class, firm, fiery Cherry had to do with Ponyboy, who usually never said much more than he needed, who always seemed cool under pressure. </p><p>Ponyboy decides to walk him out. He sticks a Kool in his mouth, and a strike of a match against the pendant he wears has it going quick. He pushes his glasses up his nose again, "I'll let you know if I need anything else. I'm supposed to be headed home on Sunday, but I'll call otherwise." </p><p>Glenn nods, and after a moment sighs. "Look… can I ask you something? I kn-- I think it makes you uncomfortable but I don't… Im--I'm in the dark here." </p><p>He walks them over to the side door, Ponyboy following. "You, Marcia, Cherry. You all seem to have some sort of history with each other. Something no one's explained to me." He watches Ponyboy's face. He seems to bite down harder on the cigarette as Glenn speaks. "Did… did you guys date or something?" </p><p>A look of utter surprise crosses Ponyboy's face. His… ears even turn red in response. "N-No! No, lord." Glenn thinks he sees the ghost of a laugh on Ponyboy's face. "We're all from Tulsa. Went to high school at the same time and...something real…" His words trail off. He's clearly struggling to explain himself in the moment. The look on his face is almost haunted for a moment, and he says, "We got mixed up in something when we were kids. Something bad." </p><p>Glenn feels bad for asking in that moment. He should let this go, he knows, and he does, "Alright. You don't have to tell it all to me. Sorry I asked."</p><p>Ponyboy fixes him with a look Glenn wants to call sharp, almost daring him to ask more. Then he gives that small genial smile. "It's okay. I ain't used to talking about it. Tell Marcia I said hi?"</p><p>Glenn nods, and he leaves, with more questions than he had before. </p><p>He isn't planning on seeing Ponyboy again or raising it up with Marcia. There's something buried there that doesn't want to be dug up and he respects that. However, he finds himself fucked the night before the paper's due, having to do last minute edits, trying to recover from a hangover and there's only one place open at that time of night: a gritty little Waffle House a ten minute walk from campus. </p><p>Where he's from, there aren't such places. He'd only been there twice before, always desperate, and it's no different now as he briskly walks there, annoyed that he has to. Marcia is asleep at her own place, and with nowhere else to reliably get food, Glenn has plans to get in and get out. </p><p>He ducks into the place, squinting at the fluorescent lights above. The smell of the greasy food makes his stomach, rumble, and when he throws himself into a booth, Glenn doesn't busy himself too much with the menu, looking up when he hears footsteps, "I'm almost--"</p><p>"What are you doing here, college boy?" The tone, stiff and menacing makes the hair on his neck stand on end. His head snaps up, startled -- and finds Ponyboy on the other side, mouth curled into a wolfish grin that Glenn has never seen him sport. It's startling for him to realize that Ponyboy has sharp canines, eyes looking almost like a spark of blue as he speaks, "Didn't spot you for someone who'd eat here."</p><p>Glenn gives a nervous laugh, unsure of why he felt so badly spooked. "It's out of need! Everything else is closed, and I gotta do some last minute work. Fuck, I didn't know you worked."</p><p>Ponyboy hums, eyes glancing briefly to the door as a pack of rougher looking boys and girls -- locals, Glenn thinks -- makes their way inside. They're clearly drunk, rowdy, and Ponyboy seems to talk out of the side of his mouth, "I'll let you take your time, and I'll come back over." </p><p>"Sure, man," Glenn mutters, still feeling off kilter as Ponyboy turned his attention to the pack of rougher kids. One of them calls out Ponyboy's name, and Glenn peeks over to see Ponyboy and the kid grin at each other and begin to talk. Their voices are loud, and Glenn tries not to obviously eaves drop as the noise level rises and dips. </p><p>Soon, Ponyboy is shouting out orders, and the other workers begin to cook. </p><p>"You settle on what to order?" </p><p>"Patty melt," Glenn says, handing the menu back. "Those your friends?" </p><p>Ponyboy takes the menu, sliding it down the rack, "Yeah, they are." He doesn't elaborate, his tone almost daring Glenn to ask more. "What do you want to drink?" </p><p>"Uh, coffee, is all," Glenn says, and Ponyboy gives a nod and gets right to work. Glenn has never worked a real job like he has, and he wonders about him as he mingles around the diner. It's odd to even see him in a uniform, despite the fact that the crip shirt and a tie are the only real pieces of a uniform Ponyboy wears. </p><p>The coffee comes quick, the rougher crowd and Ponyboy exchanging bits and pieces of talk. Glenn has to strain his ears a bit to pick up on snatches of conversation -- Curly something, mention of drink or two, something about jail sentences? The patty melt comes in easy, too, Glenn taking an eager bite into the greasy sandwich.</p><p>He looks up right as two more rough looking guys enter, and instantly he knows something is wrong by the way they're walking. For all the relative wealth Glenn had in relation to others here, he knew the desperate look of someone casing a place -- and the way they tracked Ponyboy, with their eyes. </p><p>Glenn opens his mouth but he's too late, as they both pull out guns, aiming right for Ponyboy, who's behind the register now. He sees Ponyboy stiffen, his fingers curling on either side of the booth. "Guess you aren't looking to have a waffle, are you?" </p><p>It's sarcastic and tired; Glenn considers just how many times that Ponyboy might have had to do this, might have had to put up with someone pointing a gun at him for a few bucks in the till. Tension settles all over the small space, and a light above his table flickers as both gunmen advance. "Open it up. Don't try anything."</p><p>Ponyboy's fingers work at the register, pulling out the bills and coins. The people in the corner look like they're silently communicating with each other in glances, and murmurs. The gunmen concentrate on Ponyboy, and Glenn thinks he can smell the sweat, the terror. "Hurry the fuck up! We don't have all night!" </p><p>"Yeah, yeah," Ponyboy mutters in response, finally getting all the money out. The lights flicker again, and when he hands over the bag, the gunman presses the gun against his cheek, fingers clenching the gun tighter. Ponyboy doesn't seem afraid from where Glenn is sitting, face expression cool as he hand puts the money in the bag. "You want anything else?" </p><p>"Tips too, you fuck," the gunman snarls, pressing it against Ponyboy's cheek more, in a way that has to hurt. </p><p>The other one turns to the rougher looking kids, barking out, "Empty your pockets out too. Now!" </p><p>That is what makes Ponyboy's facial expression turn into sheer dislike, "Hey! Hey, they don't <i>have</i> much of anything! There's more here--"</p><p>The gun goes off against his cheek. </p><p>There's a scream from one of the girls as Ponyboy goes down, dropping to the floor heavily behind the counter. Glenn can feel his heart pounding, leaping up with, "Don't--"</p><p>The gunman turns to him, mouth in a snarl. "You better shut up unless you want to end up like him, asshole. Empty your pockets!" Glenn puts his hands up instinctively, heart pounding, unable to bear that he's smelling the tang of blood mixed with gunpowder now. The lights are starting to flicker on and off uncontrollably above them now, washing the whole scene in an unnatural light and darkness all at once. </p><p>The gunman that shot Pony, he puts the gun, still hot, against Glenn's temple as he fumbles with the wallet he has. His heart is pounding a mile a minute, and his fingers slip on the billfold as he gets the money. </p><p>"D-Don't--," he is shaking, "Please. Please, can I check on him? He's my--"</p><p>The money is snatched from his hand, and the gunman moves the gun away. He shoves it in the bag, leaps on the table and goes behind the counter to where Ponyboy is still sprawled on the floor. Glenn thinks he can smell something burning and wildly wonders where the cook went, if maybe he was at a payphone calling someone. </p><p>He watches helplessly as the gunman goes to Ponyboy's prone form. He wants to lean over, see more as the gunman shoves Ponyboy over. There's a hole in-- a hole in Ponyboy's cheek and Glenn thinks he's going to vomit--</p><p>--then the gunman is screaming. The gun goes off, a light shatters, and Glenn can see that Ponyboy has a switchblade in his hand. He's stabbed it in the man's throat, and Glenn thinks his eyes have to be playing tricks on him. The lights are flashing too intensely for it to be real, for Ponyboy to be sitting up the way he is, for him to be dragging the blade through the guy's throat and there is blood, there is so much blood. </p><p>Glenn finds himself screaming, scrambling away. Ponyboy doesn't seem to notice or care as he yanks the blade out of the gunman's throat. He stands up and Glenn's eyes seem to be showing him something out of a horror movie when he leaps over the counter for the other gunman. He doesn't see Ponyboy when he stabs the switchblade into his back once, twice, three times until he goes down. </p><p>The air feels different as Ponyboy turns around, the switchblade still held in his hand. It's thicker, like ozone in Glenn's mouth. The lights keep going in and out, and he thinks he can smell gas.<br/>
<br/>
Ponyboy approaches him, and beneath the lights, his eyes are wrong. They're blue, but not a warm friendly blue -- they're bone chillingly cold when they focus on Glenn, the knife held in his blood soaked hand. </p><p>It takes a moment for Glenn to realize that Ponyboy's cheek is bloody, that the skin beneath it is shifting. As if it was sewing itself back together. </p><p>"Ponyboy?" Glenn's voice feels high in his throat. </p><p>A sneer forms on Ponyboy's face slow, and menacing. His tongue darts out to lick at the blood on his face, and the lights above them begin to hum and pop one after the other. </p><p>Glenn's vision starts to darken. He thinks he hears Ponyboy say, "Kid's not at home right now." There's a laugh on the edge of it, "Think you ought to join him."</p><p>He comes to in a hospital bed, the light above him humming. Beside him is Marcia, her face relieved when he looks at her. She reaches over for his hand, and he mumbles out her name, unable to do more than that. </p><p>In the days that pass, the newspapers inform him that Ponyboy Curtis is fine; that the gunman merely grazed his cheek. He fought back out of self defense, and that the other kids in the Waffle House had backed him up immediately. </p><p>Glenn however, knows that it's not true as he stares at the news broadcast from his apartment with Marcia. On television, Ponyboy looks young, charming almost as he tells them it was only self defense, and it wasn't something he'd wanted to do. </p><p>On the television, Ponyboy's eyes aren't blue. </p><p>Break gives him time to process it. Time away from campus, away from everything. </p><p>Yet, when Glenn sees him on campus, months later, he can't help but feel as if something cold has him pinned in his shoulder when he looks at Ponyboy. He looks like all the world, his ordinary, friendly classmate who waves at him, the skull ring glinting in the morning light. </p><p>Glenn can still smell ozone, still see flashing lights, still smell blood.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is a possible future scenario for <i>the descent</i> but otherwise, don't read into it too much. comments, kudos, come yell at me on tumblr, i'm @traumapeaks.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>